White Lies
by Lornesgoldenhair
Summary: Whouffaldi fic set after series 8 finale after Father Christmas warns that 'she's not OK you know and neither are you.' The Doctor returns to seek Clara and they confront one another about the lies they told about Gallifrey and Danny. Highly angst ridden with sexual scenes.


**White Lies.**

**Set after Death In Heaven (Season 8 Finale) but before the Christmas Special. After the mysterious Father Christmas figure bangs on the TARDIS door and disturbs him the Doctor receives the news that Clara isn't OK after all. Putting his Christmas adventure on hold temporarily he goes in search of her and the truth. M Rated. Sexual Content. Angst. Whouffaldi. Ended up being a lot darker than I intended.**

'She's not OK you know,' the preposterous looking Santa Claus had told him, 'And neither are you.'

Now the words were set on a loop in his mind. Not the part about himself, although deep down he knew that to be only too true, but the words about her.

_She's Not Ok She's Not OK She's Not OK_

But she was, wasn't she? He had seen her in the café, bright eyed and presentable enough, no tell-tale signs of crying, no quiver in her voice when she had told him that she and Danny would be just fine. Why wouldn't she be OK? She had what she needed, she had her life, her job, her normality, her dead boyfriend re-incarnated by Gallifreyan technology. What more did she want?

He was programming co-ordinates, the TARDIS humming faintly in protest as she was forced awake from her maintenance cycle. They had been drifting in space and time for weeks, maybe months, it was all one to him sitting in that chair, never raising the lights above a dim glow. What was the point, there was nothing to see, nothing but the same walls and the same console, the one he had smashed in frustration and pain.

Nothing to see. No Gallifrey, no home. No Clara.

And now this. This man in a costume claiming to know something was wrong with her? A trick probably, part of a greater scheme to lure the Doctor to some awful end. But he didn't really care. An awful end would almost be welcome right now and if there was any chance… any chance at all that she really did need him. Well then as the Master had said, he'd be there like a shot. He still dangled on her string. She controlled him, for better for worse.

He pulled the lever and the engines roared.

Of course he had tried not to let it show. He had played it down and told the Costume Man he would nip over and pick her up before going to his planet to deal with whatever alien problem had arisen there. Not a problem, not a big deal, just a little trip to check on Clara, ask her if she wanted to come along… The man had told him to take his time, after all he had a time machine, it wasn't as if he could be late for the planet. _Take your time_, he'd said, _do it right_.

The Doctor pushed an aggravated hand through his hair. With the man gone he could allow himself to pace while spaceship worked around him, sending him through time, across space, back to her. He had no idea what he would find but he knew it was going to be painful. Just seeing her would be painful. In any circumstances at all. Even if she appeared now in the TARDIS and swore never to leave again his hearts would break. Her existence was enough to hurt him.

The TARDIS came to a halt and he half skipped-ran his awkward run to the door before he caught himself, limbs unbalanced. His stomach churned and he wondered how long it had been since he had felt fear like this. He placed one hand on the handle knowing that on the other side were the co-ordinates the TARDIS had traced to her sonic and most probably her. He wondered if she was looking at the blue box now. Or if the pair of them, her and Danny were standing outside cursing him for coming back and shattering their happy little existence.

But something might be wrong. She wasn't OK, that's what the man had said. If she was he could turn around and leave again, at least he thought he could. But if she wasn't. If there was even a chance she wasn't…

He opened the door and cold winter sun poured in.

It was so much brighter than the gloom of the TARDIS. The Doctor blinked and squinted taking in the tall thin shapes of trees, bare and skeletal. He shaded his eyes and focused on gravel paths and worn grass, faded from the sunshine of a summer passed, scuffed from the boots of those who walked here now in the damp of winter. And then he saw the tombstones.

'Graveyard,' he muttered, 'No…no..'

And his mind raced ahead of him and pulled his tearing hearts alongside. He recognised the place, the graveyard where he had ended the Master. But why had the TARDIS brought him back? It hummed sadly behind him. It told him that Clara was here.

'Clara!' he cried out her name before he could stop himself, abject panic filling his voice, 'Clara!' scanning the graveyard for any sign. Only the dead.

_She's not OK She's not OK She's not OK_

'No… no… not you Clara, you can't be dead, you can't be dead…' and he was flitting between the tombstones his eyes still scanning desperately, breathing hard, but too much fear to grasp himself and think, he couldn't think, he couldn't think.

'Doctor?' he spun at the sound of her voice, his eyes flying to it. Clara was pushing herself up from her knees beside a grave, pale, shocked, stilted in her movement, but alive. Definitely alive. He froze and both of them stood awkwardly, yards between them, uncertain.

It was him who broke the silence, him that made the move, and it made him afraid that he did so. He took a few steps towards her, suddenly aware of the chill in the air and the way his shoes slid over the dead leaves of the autumn, suddenly aware of the distance between them and the desperate urge to close it.

'Clara,' his voice came as a whisper now, a hoarseness to it, a pain stabbing at his throat.

'You came back,' she said and he watched as she had to tilt her head upwards to follow his eyes as he approached. She seemed so small and when he finally stood by her it was as though she were looking into the sun, so far above her and out of reach. He wanted to gather her to him then and thank each deity he knew that she was whole, except that he glanced down by their feet and realised that she wasn't.

She followed his eye line to the grave.

'Danny,' she said simply. 'Danny's grave.'

The Doctor felt his face tighten, he couldn't shift his gaze from the tombstone that bore Danny Pink's name.

'You said...'

'I know what I said,' Clara replied, 'And technically it's true. We're OK. He's OK where he is... and I'm…'

'You're not OK,' he corrected her and then felt the anger surge, 'You're not OK and you _lied_,' he growled. _And I did this, I did this to you._

There was a gust of wind and for a moment Clara had to close her eyes against the debris it threw up, decaying leaves crumbled into tiny pieces and chaffed her face. When it settled she opened her eyes and found he had stepped back.

'Why didn't you tell me?' he raised his arms in despair, 'Of all people Clara, you could have told me.'

And she knew it was true, she knew in fact it was what she had wanted to do when she had walked into that café, but then she had seen his smile, heard his news and she couldn't.

'I didn't want to….' She sought a word which fitted, 'I didn't want to make you feel obliged.'

'Obliged?' he said incredulously, '_Obliged_? How do you even come near that conclusion Clara? Why do you keep insisting on thinking so little of our friendship? Don't you think I would move heaven and earth for you if I could, don't you think I _tried_ to do just that?' He let his arms fall and swung his back to her unable to trust himself further.

Clara hesitated. 'I know you did. I knew you would again. But you'd found your home, you'd found Gallifrey, I just wanted you to be able to be happy, go there and be happy and not worry about me.'

'Stupid stupid girl,' he growled and Clara flinched. He had his hands over his face and his shoulders tensed. 'Stupid,' he repeated. She waited unsure if he would explain, unsure if _she_ should. Finally his shoulders slumped and she saw him draw a long breath.

'There _is_ no Gallifrey, I have no _home_', he said softly and with bitterness, 'I just wanted you to be happy,' and still with his back turned he began to make his way across the dead ground to the TARDIS.

XXXXXXX

For a winded second Clara could not move. No Gallifrey. He had told her he had found Gallifrey. That he was going home. He had told her that. He had lied. All these months, all these months she had pulled herself from her bed each morning and gone to work in a place filled with Danny's memory. All these months she had tended his grave. All these months she had wished that just once she'd hear from her friend again, the only person who knew exactly what she'd been through, the only person she could talk to. But no she had reassured herself, it was for the best, he needed his home, he might find his family, all the years he had drifted, he deserved to go home and she wouldn't stop him.

All lies.

But she hadn't corrected him about Danny either.

White Lies.

They weren't so different he and she.

Clara jolted. He was almost back at the TARDIS, he'd be inside and gone again before she'd even said a word.

_Run_.

And she did, dodging between the tombstones, almost stumbling, grabbing at them to push herself back in line, 'Doctor!' he was so far ahead and the sun was in her eyes, she couldn't see, its cold light obscuring him from her view, how far was there to go? 'Doctor, wait!' she passed under a tall tree and its shadow blocked the sun for a moment, long enough to see him open the door and turn just slightly, so slightly.

'Don't!' she cried, 'Don't go,' his hand rested against the door, hesitant.

Clara barrelled into him, her arms cinching around him fiercely, 'Don't go,' she panted against his chest and he stood unmoving while she came apart. Months she had lived as though frozen, barely functional, emotionally still and now here he was, the Doctor, and she could feel herself shattering as though her sprint through the graveyard and broken her into pieces. 'You can't leave,' she sobbed, 'You can't leave, I know we both shouldn't have… we shouldn't have lied, but you can't go. I've missed you so much.'

She felt his chest hitch under her cheek and tried to look up into his face but he wouldn't have it, holding her firmly instead against him, one hand raised to cradle her head.

'Oh Clara, you've no idea,' he breathed and then stopped suddenly while that hitch came again. He was wrestling, fighting and she wished he wouldn't but she took what she could from the strain in his voice. They stood for a minute longer, faces hidden from one another, before the Doctor gently peeled her from him and turning disappeared into the TARDIS. The door he left open and Clara followed, the worst of her panic subsiding.

She only got a few steps before the TARDIS shut the door behind her and the darkness became thick. She could make out the centre console and his figure standing by it, head bowed. Clara pulled her coat tighter around her. It had been cold outside and she was aware that it was warmer here but she felt exposed nonetheless. The TARDIS had always felt like a home from home, now it just felt bare.

'So we're both liars,' he said, his voice empty. Clara took a few more steps forward, her eyes were adjusting to the gloom now and she could make out the details of the room. Behind the console his leather chair had been placed on the bottom level and beside it a small table. Around both a litter of items cast carelessly to one side when his restless mind lost interest. And a blanket, she could see a blanket. Clara frowned.

'You've been living in the console room?' she said. His eyes immediately went to where she was looking.

'If you can call it living,' he replied. She moved forward, one hand trailing across the console, 'Careful!' he said quickly but she'd already made the mistake.

'Ah!' Clara withdrew her hand sharply. The Doctor moved to her and took her wrist, wincing at the deep red gash which had opened across her palm. He felt in his pockets for something to stem the blood but Clara was looking down at the edge of the console and at the harsh shards of broken controls. 'What happened?' she asked.

'Nothing,' he had found a handkerchief and was pressing it hard to her palm.

'Looks like a thing,' she said looking up at him. He averted his eyes.

'I… I'll get around to fixing it, the major controls are still functional.'

'Tell me what happened,' her voice was growing more demanding but he ducked it.

'Let's get this bandaged,' he made to lead her to the sick bay.

'Tell me,' Clara gripped his arm with her other hand so that between them their arms tied a knot of contact, crossed at the centre, entwined.

The Doctor met her gaze. 'I got angry,' he said, 'I wanted Gallifrey to be there, it wasn't, and I got angry. I'm not proud of it.'

Clara was looking at him curiously. 'You're allowed to be angry.'

'I shouldn't have believed him… her… The Master.'

'But you wanted to.'

'I should know better. I should have seen it coming. I shouldn't have believed her,' he said again.

'I believed you,' she said, 'It's not a crime to want something so badly… for yourself…. For someone else that you believe it. You believed Danny was back… it's… it's the same sort of thing.'

He looked at her sadly then, his anger leeching from him, changing, and she thought for a moment he was going to reply but instead he tugged lightly on her sleeve and guided her to where he could dress her hand. In the sick bay the TARDIS turned the dim lights back up and she watched as he picked items from cupboards. He was pale even out of the winter sun, and there were new lines, new heaviness beneath his eyes.

'Tell me why you came back,' Clara said.

He chuckled dryly. 'Father Christmas told me to.'

'Um… OK. You might need to elaborate on that one.' He approached her and she held her injured hand out for him, drawing in sharp breath as he removed the handkerchief and examined the wound.

'He turned up at the TARDIS door. Obviously not _the_ Father Christmas, there will be some other reason behind it all, but he was after my help with something and seemed to know a lot about you…'

'What did he say?'

'He just suggested I visit.'

'What did he say exactly?'

He pressed gauze to antiseptic and began to wipe down her hand. She hissed.

'He said 'She's not OK.''

'And….'

'And you aren't so apparently he was right.'

'What else?' she pushed. He was avoiding her gaze again staring too intently at the dressing he was now applying.

'Nothing else.'

'Are _you_ OK?' she asked directly. He paused and took breath and Clara sensed that his answer hung in the air, balanced finely on a thread of emotion which could give way at any time.

'No,' he confessed.

'So that's neither of us then.'

'That's what he said.'

He fastened the dressing and turned away to replace the items he'd used. Clara studied his back. She knew every muscle, every movement, every feeling that radiated off him. She had cast herself into his timeline and lived a hundred lives alongside him. She could predict him, speak for him, sometimes it felt that she could hear his thoughts. She knew him so well, yet sometimes she couldn't read him at all.

'Doctor?'

'He asked what I wanted for Christmas,' he said suddenly, leaning onto the counter and lowering his head in defeat.

'What did you say?' She slipped off the bed and took a few steps towards him. She heard the same sad dry laugh she had heard before.

'I told him I was a bit old for all that and that the things I might want were impossibilities.'

She'd reached him now and carefully placed a hand on his back. He stiffened but she refused to let go and the feeling passed.

'Gallifrey?' she asked.

'Gallifrey…. That one's right off the Christmas list.'

She let her hand stroke gently down his back and watched as his shoulders slumped further.

'What else?' she said softly.

'What else is so unattainable?' he said. 'What one thing will always be just out of my reach? Always an echo, a reflection, a mirage of the real thing that I can never have. Always, almost there.' Clara's hand stilled on his back. 'I've no right to ask for this gift either, my Impossible Girl.' And her hand came away from him and the thread snapped. The emotion was out and he cursed himself for it.

'Me?' she breathed.

'You,' was all he said.

_She's Not OK. Take your Time. Do it Right_.

But he wasn't doing it right was he? He knew where it would lead. He shouldn't be doing it at all. Why had he come here? He'd wanted to help her, but this wasn't what Clara needed, an old man in a blue box coming back to her in the middle of her grief. She was grieving for her young lover and here he was offering himself up to her like the poor replacement he was. Two thousand years her senior, a being so scarred now by experience that he no longer knew if any original parts remained. Triggers Broom, replaced again and again. Reborn again and again but each time born more damaged until he was nothing but a bundle of contorted bitter memories of loss and hurt and harm. And she, beautiful Clara, open and warm, quick to smile and laugh, quick to trust, she deserved better. Better than this, than him. He would only corrupt her in the end.

He moved suddenly from the counter and made to exit the sick bay but she was too quick for him reaching for his arm and forcing him to face her.

'Me?' she said again. Her eyes were wide. 'You're meaning our friendship, right? You missed me, been travelling about all by your lonesome for too long…' she babbled.

'No, I don't mean that,' the words were stark but he was half way there and as he watched the shock in her eyes he knew that things would never be the same again regardless of what he now said. He might as well be honest. 'I want you Clara, I… I love you.'

She stared, motionless for a moment and he felt the breath he had taken burn in his chest. Everything now hung on this moment. All the years he had lived, the time which had slipped simply through his hands, the hours and days he played with as he moved through time and space, all of it now came to this, these few moments. He wished he had respected time more now that it held his fate in its hands.

She let go of his arm and stepped back. He felt those few inches as miles, ripping his hearts from him.

Clara continued to stare at him, opening her mouth slightly to form a word but saying nothing. Her hands came to her lips and covered them and she looked away, backing towards the bed and as she did so a small laugh escaping from her. The sound pricked at him like thorns and a blush of humiliation coloured his cheeks. She was laughing louder now a strange strangled laugh that held no joy and he couldn't stand the tone of it, it crushed him utterly.

'Stop it!' he snapped, 'Stop it!' Her laughter escalated.

'I'm sorry,' she coughed out, 'I'm sorry... but all of this…. God, Doctor, don't you see?'

He glared at her wordlessly feeling defenceless in the face of this tiny woman.

Clara straightened and tried to calm her breathing. 'You don't do you?' she asked her voice suddenly more serious, 'All of this time, all of these things that have happened, the conversations… no the _fights_ we've had, and Danny….'

He flinched at his name.

'Danny…. Right at the centre of it all,' Clara said, 'This poor innocent guy caught up in this _thing_, this _us_.'

'What are you talking about?' he was flustered and hurting, why couldn't she just go, reject him and go, tell him what a mess he'd made of everything and then leave him to lick his wounds.

'You told me you'd made a mistake, you told me you weren't my boyfriend, you pushed me away again and again,' and now her tone turned to anger and he watched as her eyes flashed and her jaw set a little firmer. 'You made me feel so lonely, I missed the old you so much and you just pushed and pushed, you deliberately turned into everything he wasn't, cold and distant and angry and cruel. So I turned to Danny and oh how you hated him, how you ridiculed him, made him feel small, mocked us, burned with jealously because you'd become a lonely old man. You let me down, you hurt me and then just as I make a decision, just as I try to get my life in balance and undo the harm you've done the world falls apart again. Danny dies and you leave and we lie to one another all over again and now_…. Now_ you tell me you love me?'

'Yes!' he answered louder than he had intended, angrier, more hurt.

'Well why couldn't you tell me before?' she shouted.

The Doctor reeled. 'I… you didn't….it wasn't….'

'Why couldn't you have just told me,' she said again, her voice breaking, 'Why couldn't you have just been you from the start? None of this would have happened, none of these rows, none of these hurtful things we've said to each other… Danny…. He'd still be alive.'

'You don't know that,' he winced at the accusation.

'Well he wouldn't have been on his way over to my flat would he? He'd have been at home or at the school or with his girlfriend who wasn't me. He wouldn't have been caught up in this twisted dysfunctional mess to start with. He would have been with someone who loved him for him, not someone who could only give half of her heart. None of this had to happen, if you'd just _said_,' and she covered her face, her voice finally giving way to sobs.

The Doctor stood side on to the counter, bracing himself with one hand as though he was afraid he might not be able to support his weight.

'Why?' he asked.

Clara smeared away her tears with her hands. 'Why what?'

'Why would none of it happen? If I'd told you, why would it change anything, you knowing how I feel?'

'For a two thousand year old time lord you are a complete idiot when it comes to reading human feelings,' she snapped.

'I know you loved him,' he said.

'Who? Danny?'

'The previous me. I know you loved him.'

'Yes… yes I did.'

'But I wasn't him when I changed. It pained you.'

Clara let out a frustrated breath. 'I struggled with it, the regeneration, I know, I'm sorry…'

'I was different, not what you needed.'

'You were exactly what I needed. I just didn't know it at the time. I needed to adjust but I needed _you_.'

The Doctor passed his hand over his face roughly. 'This is a mistake, this whole thing is a mistake, I can't do this.'

'I never stopped loving you,' Clara said quietly.

He glanced quickly over at her, hesitation and insecurity making his eyes sharp, and she felt vulnerable under his gaze. Neither of them could speak for long minutes. Neither could move from the room.

'So I think that means we both confessed the same thing,' Clara said, her words sounding uncomfortably light.

'Yes,' his hushed reply.

Clara chewed her lip. 'So this is awkward,' she glanced around the sick bay unsure what to do. The Doctor seemed intent on staying as far away from her as possible, his body twisted uncomfortably as though he was still trying to protect himself from her.

'Clara,' he said. She looked up hopefully.

'Is this really what you want?'

'I don't even know what this is.'

'Us. You and I. It's not a casual romance Clara, I'm still never going to be your 'boyfriend.' You and I are tangled together over time and space, a dozen versions of me and a hundred of you sharing thousands of experiences most of which we don't even have knowledge of. This is not simple, it is not straightforward, it is powerful and all consuming. It's dangerous, passionate, undying…' he looked up at her his eyes glassy, 'You haunt me Clara, and when you are gone, when you cease to live and breathe you will haunt me still. Your face, your voice, your echoes will follow me and I will have to live with your ghost and the pain it brings. So please… be sure… because I will live with all of that willingly if you can truly love me now.'

'All or nothing,' she whispered.

'Yes,' and he became aware he was holding his breath again. Clara dropped her gaze and nodded, thoughts flitting through her mind. After a beat she drew herself up and looked him straight in the eyes.

'All it is then,' she said.

She stepped towards him with a show of courage and saw his expression become wary but she'd made the move and there was no going back now. Clara closed in until she was within touching distance, until she was looking up into his face and feeling his breath flow weakly from his lips. He was barely breathing, frozen, afraid that any move would cause the scene to disintegrate before him. Clara lifted her injured hand to his face and with her fingertips traced the contours of his high cheek bones and the hollows beneath. He looked so tired, so worn by it all, and concern crossed her features, her brow lowering slightly. He couldn't look at her, his eyes moving over her shoulder away from her gaze. She heard him swallow thickly and in response dragged her thumb along his jaw and pulled him to face her. With her fingers she touched his lips and they parted slightly under her, his eyes fluttering closed. Clara watched, mesmerised by the close proximity, by the intimacy she had often thought of but never dreamed would occur. And then he leaned his head and kissed her palm softly, kissed over the dressing and the wound his ship had given her. The wound his anger had left on her skin. In each featherlight touch of his mouth came an apology and with it his desire.

Clara let him continue for a moment before pulling back her hand, his eyes following, questioning her in his self doubt, so she pushed gently against him in reassurance and made it clear that her motion was not a request to stop but to change the focus of his tenderness. She felt his arms brush forward, tentatively encircling her, holding her like the most fragile flower and lifted her face to meet him as his lips came closer. He still held back and she met him more than half way, breaching that final few millimetres which separated them. She pushed harder and closer encouraging him to tighten his arms and it was then that he seemed to give way, his mouth suddenly hungry against her, his kiss deepening, a dark moan coming from within him. He turned her so that she was against the counter and held her there trapped between it and his body, a rush of heat moving through her at the feel of him taut and hard against her flesh. He lifted her, her legs wrapping round him, their hips pushing together. There was something drawing them like magnets, an inability to be close enough, to touch enough, a need to be joined and joined now. Clara found herself pulling at his hair, his jacket, his shirt, the touch of each virgin piece of skin sending electricity up her fingers. Each time his own hands brushed naked thigh, pushed under her top she felt the same burn rush to the centre of her, knock the breath from her until she was panting and begging, keening at his touch.

'Doctor…'

He stopped, alarmed, looking at her with a combination of eagerness and uncertainty.

'Maybe we should go somewhere other than the sickbay,' she smiled that dimpled smile he dreamed of. He glanced towards the door.

'Right yes,' there was something very innocent about his dishevelment. 'Where?'

'Bedroom?' she suggested.

He took her hand, that in itself surprised her pleasantly, and pulled her behind him through a brief maze of metal corridor before they reached his room. Once inside Clara resumed her assault on his clothing. Jacket off, waistcoat following, she raised her arms and he removed her top, before she dropped her hands to his shirt. The blush went straight to his cheeks and he stopped her.

'Doctor,' she persisted. He glanced upward and the TARDIS obliged him, the lights dimming. 'You don't need to be shy,' Clara teased gently. She moved her hands over his buttons again and this time he allowed them to be undone. She touched him, letting her hands drop to his stomach and he flinched. 'Shhh,' she whispered, her lips met with his chest, planting wet and sensual kisses over his lean frame. She placed her hands over his hip bones and pushed him backwards, walking him to the bed before grasping the buckle of his belt between her fingers.

'Clara,' his voice warned of his nerves. She ignored his plea and opened the belt making quick work of the button beneath and the zipper. When his clothing fell away she was conscious of him turning his head, of the tense way he held himself under her hands, of his insecurity.

'Two thousand years old Doctor you've a lot more experience than me in this department, relax.'

'Easier said than done.'

She reached up and let her fingers walk through his soft hair, 'You've nothing to worry about, you've done it all before.'

'Not in this body… not with you.'

Clara looked at him inquisitively, piecing the parts together, he wanted it to be good enough, for her, he didn't want to be a disappointment. She made a decision. 'Sit,' she said and pressed him down onto the bed. He looked up at her in the dim light and she placed her fingers on either side of his face briefly, kissing him deeply before taking his hands and encouraging him to unfasten her skirt. She kicked it away and slid to her knees, kneeling before him, parting his thighs.

'Clara,' there was the slightest note of alarm in his voice and she ignored it to push her hands down his legs towards his arousal, gripping his hips as she reached him and breathing warm breath over his erection. He gave an involuntary shudder and she pressed forward further to nuzzle at him, taking one hand off his hip to find his and tangle it in her hair. She leant down and took him in her mouth.

The Doctor bucked under her and she felt his hand tightened in her hair. From above her she heard him bite back on a moan and whisper her name.

'Clara, no…'

She started a steady rhythm, taking as much of him into her as she could, pulling back and flicking her tongue quickly against the underside. She smiled as he jerked in response and made a mental note of the most sensitive places. He began to move unbidden under her, unable to hold back the pulse of his hips as they urged him towards orgasm. His breathing was becoming ragged and the moans he tried to bite back were escaping from him more often. Clara slowed her pace and he made a strangled noise in protest, tugging slightly on her hair. She pulled back and release him and he keened slightly, biting down on his lip, shutting his eyes. She looked up at him with something like pride mixed with adoration and crawled up his body, pushing him back onto the bed until she was on top of him, leaning forward to capture his lips, pressing herself against him wet and readied by the sound of his arousal.

She ground herself against him, allowing herself to take pleasure from the body beneath her even as he panted his protest. Clara closed her eyes and set a fast pace, each time only almost allowing him to enter her until she could tell that they were both perilously close to losing control. When he suddenly flipped her over she caught her breath and opened her eyes in shock. Something had altered, the balance of power shifted. The Doctor leaned down over her, holding her firmly in place, not allowing her to buck her hips or find friction against him. He dropped his lips over hers with a deep kiss.

The world spun and he stopped holding back. The Doctor reached out into her mind and sought the confirmation he needed from the tumult of their timelines. She belonged here, with him. The line had been crossed. He had tried to protect her from him and failed, his weakness would be her downfall. She was part of him now more than ever, and now everything was different.

Clara felt him push against her and into her and suddenly she could see it all clearly. Memories tumbling through eons, a thousand recollections of places and times, of his face, faces, his voice, voices; all of them and one of them. Her echoes had always come to her in dreams since the day she jumped into his timeline but now there came a torrent of feeling that made them real. She wanted to protect him, fend for him, sacrifice herself, give herself to him. He was all around her, deep within her, a part of body soul and mind. Somewhere in the complexity of time this had already happened, was waiting to happen. She was no longer sure what came before or after only that they were tangled together and that they would never rend apart.

She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his bashfulness now gone replaced with something much fiercer, something powerful. Something inside him had changed, become reconnected and as he moved inside her, her pleasure building, she was reminded of exactly what he was, a seemingly immortal being, otherworldly, potent. Yes she had seen his vulnerability and only a handful of people ever would. But for what else she saw, the echoes of his lives and hers, they were memories unique to them alone, shared, feared and cherished equally. He was right of course, what lay between them was dangerous, all consuming, undying. And now she had taken that leap. He had rescued her from his timeline once, but she would not come back from this.

The Doctor began to speed up, his lips at her neck and Clara recognised the erratic movement of her own hips and she neared her climax. She felt the thrill and joy begin to course through her body as it began to release and heard him growl her name against her skin. As his rhythm faltered and his movements became more urgent she dug her hands into his back, her fingers spasming and leaving reddened half moons in his skin. She clawed into him, dimly aware of the pain in her injured hand as she worked to bring them both to their conclusion, and in their shared mind's eye she felt the dams of emotion burst as their bodies let go. Love and grief and pain and fear. Love and grief and pain and… Love.

Love is a Promise. Promises are not always kept. But sometimes….

They lay together in the dim light of his room listening to the slowing breaths from each other's bodies and allowing their damp skin to cool. Clara held the Doctor loosely on top of her recovering heart and looked across the pillow to where her injured hand lay open, palm up. It stung and she peered to check the dressing, leaking now after her exertion.

In the darkness of the room, her blood looked black and his tears felt wet against her cheek.

_She's Not Ok She's Not OK She's Not OK_

_And Neither Are You._

_So Take your time. Do it Right._


End file.
